


Part 3 - Smells Like Teen Spirit

by RogersandBarnes107



Series: Bucky Barnes - Rebirth [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21738259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogersandBarnes107/pseuds/RogersandBarnes107
Series: Bucky Barnes - Rebirth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554157





	Part 3 - Smells Like Teen Spirit

1995

Manhattan Beach, California

“HEADS UP, BARNES!!!!”

Too late.

The ‘warning’ hadn’t even finished filtering through her eardrums before a searing sensation burned across her face. The force of impact splayed her on the asphalt, her books and papers littered over the parking lot. She heard the ‘ohhh’s’ erupting from the bleachers then the slow claps and laughs. She felt the knee of her overalls rip as she hit the ground; a warm gluey fluid cried from the wound.

 _Blood_.

She tasted the metallic liquid now pooling over her braces.

 _More Blood_ … _Just_ _great._

She sat up and surveyed the damage. This was complicated by the fact that her glasses now had a huge crack in its left lens, its left arm missing completely.

Kids walked by her and looked down, not helping, just passing by. She balanced the shattered remains of the glasses on her face, collected her books and Trapper Keeper, and then attempted to scavenge its contents. Loose paper flew around the parking lot.

_Nooooo, no no no no. Please no!!! That’s a whole years worth of work!_

This awkward ballet of hers, running back and forth jumping for flying paper, had the attention of the group of students where the missile had originated. Whilst assembling the quickly deteriorating collection of papers, she uncovered the implement that had grounded her. A football. Looking toward the bleachers and field, the small group of kids had mobilised to the cyclone wire fence watching her on her hunt. One figure stood out – tall, dark, lean and killer green eyes. He had a jaw line to rival a member of any boy band but still had those puppy fat cheeks. He was draped in a letterman jacket and two cheerleaders. Greg Muschietti. Other similarly attired shitheads gave him fist bumps and patted him on the back.

 _Asshole_ , she muttered under her breath.

She picked up the glorified pigskin, spitting out a mouthful of blood behind a rear tire of Mr. Dalton’s new BMW 523i and took aim - _shoulda gone with the 3 series, Sir. More mileage, less douchebag._

She focused, summoned everything she had in her and propelled the ball. It spiralled through the air; perfect velocity… but it hit the fence, bouncing off and under more staff cars. Muschietti’s crew burst out laughing, the insults flying:

“What a _LOSER_! You needed to get it over the fence you stupid bi…”

“ _When Captain America throws his mighty shiiiiiield_ …hahahahaha…”

“Hey, Dumbshit! Stick to the computers – you fucking nerd…”

“Nice shot, Bucky!!”

All of them were thrilled with the fact that she had failed. It was the defining characteristic of most of the dropkicks at this school. As long as someone was doing worse than him or her, everything was a laugh riot. She looked at where the quarterback stood with his harem. He wasn’t joining in with their revels. He was somewhat pale, his expression stony.

_Good. Message received._

She was never confrontational. She rarely spoke up for herself. She just tried her best to get through the days, and this was definitely not an isolated event. She blamed her general malaise on growing up and the uncertainty of her generation but this time … this time she needed to say that she wasn’t going to be his poster girl for harassment. Once she was certain Greg understood her, she picked up her bag and books, gripping the Trapper Keeper fiercely to her chest and shuffled her way into Howard Stark Memorial High School.

………………….

After making her way to the Nurses’ station to get her knee, if not her overalls stitched up ( _Muschietti get you again, Kid?)_ , Maggie Barnes had missed the first half of the day. Part of it was getting her physical injuries seen too ( _That’s quite a shiner you’re gonna have…_ ), another part was battling Principal Chan about not hauling Greg’s ass over the coals for it. She was exhausted come lunchtime and made a beeline for her locker. She obsessively went over the paper in her Trapper Keeper to make sure she’d managed to amass it all together from the morning. To the ordinary eye they were like dot matrix maps, some type of AP Geography project. But this was so much more. This was evidence of what could be the greatest historical discovery of the 20th Century. She was making sure all her ducks were in a row before presenting it to Stark Industries but she was running out of time and the damage of some key pieces, trampled by dispassionate students as they’d strolled passed her, now pushed her timelines back significantly. Her internship interview was only a week away. She needed to make sure everything was perfect before meeting Mr. Stark Jr. She knew his presence here was merely ceremonial, she was pretty sure that he wouldn’t even be in on the interview per se, but she was confident her theory would advance his fathers’ legacy, and she was not going to pass up the opportunity to show him. Before she had finished her inspection of the notes, a shadow closed in over her and grabbed a comic book out of her locker.

“What are we reading, Buck? Oh surprise, surprise, Captain America. Ooh number 439. Latest issue.”

“What do you want, Muschietti? – and it’s not the latest issue. Give it back.”

“Check it out, _The Star-Spangled Avenger!_ He’s… _fabulous_!”

“Give it back, Greg.”

He continued to flick through the volume. “ _Let’s Rap with Cap?_ Seriously, Barnes? But that chick on the cover though –smokin’!”

Maggie grabbed back the comic and threw it to safety in the locker. She closed the door and stood in front, shielding her belongings from the Neanderthal next to her. “What do you _want_ , Muschietti?”

Greg chewed on gum, looking up and down the hall as he spoke. Keeping his eye out in case he was seen with the ‘dweeb’ and needed to bail, he didn’t look at her at all. “I just want to say … sorry. And…ah…you know, make sure you’re ok.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Seriously. I’m sorry. All I wanted was to say ‘Good Morning’.”

“’Good Morning’? Greg, you threw a football in my face!”

“Yeah, well … I, ah … I got a rep to protect. Ugh, that’s gonna bruise”, he pointed to her eye, looking at her for the first time. “Look, I was doin’ it the best way I knew how.”

“I have a butterfly stitch in my knee. My braces are bent backwards into my gums – I’m gonna have to go to that creepy ass doctor now to have them rewired.”

“Shouldn’t you have them off by now? You’re teeth are straight as…”

“I _know_ they’re straight. I don’t have them on for that, it’s … it’s a grinding issue…anyway, point is now they’re screwed. And my ‘straight’ teeth didn’t stop some dipshit in 7th grade, naming me ‘Bucky’”.

“Oh, come on! You can’t still be pissed about that? You’re name’s Barnes, you had braces that were too big for your mouth and rattled off Steve Roger’s personal history like NFL stats… speaking of which, nice arm. If the fence wasn’t there you would’ve given me a concussion.”

“That was the idea.”

“Huh – looks like my coaching techniques are working.”

She took off the red and black flannel she was wearing and tied it around her waist and took off down the hall. “Go to hell, Greg.”

“Hey! I haven’t finished…”

“Well, I am. I’m done, Greg. I am so tired and I am so done. You know what …”

She was ambushed. Before she had time to continue her gripe, Greg dragged her into the adjacent art room. He may be lean but throwing that football since the age of 9, well, he was all upper body strength. The maimed glasses wobbled off her face with the force and as she righted them the best she could, he closed the door behind them, surveying through the small glass panels on the door to make sure they weren’t seen.

“Ok, Buck. What’s with the attitude?”

“Attitude? Oh my god … “, he was too much. She could still feel the pain searing through her eye, knee and gums and was not about to humour him. “Your head is so far up your own ass, isn’t it?”

He wasn’t used to be spoken too like this. Not here and definitely not by her. In fact, Maggie surprised herself. She was never this vocal. This was his kingdom. Greg tried to steer the conversation back to his liking, “We had an agreement…”

“… _we_ NEVER had an agreement. You just decided and expected me to go along – just like I always have.”

He paced along the door, trying to keep up the Homecoming King façade but Maggie could see real pain peek out.

“What do you mean, you’re ‘done’?”

“I mean, ‘I’m done’ … I mean…”, _what did she mean_? She tried to reconfigure her senses as she took a stand. She trembled. She there was something in her that he always softened. _Be strong, Bucky Barnes… you got this._ “I mean I am done. I am done with letting you use me as some kind of scapegoat, as some weird mascot of your ‘big man on campus’ status. I get that you’re cool. I get that high school has been good to you - I get that. I also get that I’m not. I get that I’m a bespectacled computer geek with a modern history obsession. We could’ve just gone our separate ways when I got to high school, Greg. It would have been easier for me. But no, you assured me – I’m your ‘lil homie’ and you ‘love me’ and ‘can’t live without me’… but you can’t be seen with me? That first day I walked up to you and you completely blew me off…am I that embarrassing?

“No…its not that... its…”

“…Come on Greg, tell me? Because this is _humiliating_ for me. You were my best friend, but this… this is toxic – do you get that? What you’re doing is … is … it’s _abusive_. And considering where you come from, is that really the path you wanna go down? With me?”

Greg blanched. She could see the colour run from his face. “Don’t …don’t even start with that…” He was the king of compartmentalisation. He didn’t cross the streams of home and his school life but she wasn’t going to let him get away with this anymore.

“I _know_ you, Greg. I know you in a way that ‘they’, out there, never will. I know everything about you. You forget that. And no, I would never say anything, but maybe it’s time you started to reconcile ‘who you are’ with ‘who they see’ – and not take the difference out on the one person who has supported you through _everything_.” She was shaking, tears burning in her eyes. She backed up and leaned against the long paint splattered benches to hide the tremors. She was glad she’d removed the flannel. She was flushed with adrenalin. She wasn’t used to this. Maggie didn’t care about what happened to her usually, it was other people she worried about. She couldn’t believe the rush running through her.

Greg paced along the doors, hands on hips, taking all this in. When it looked like he’d processed her protest, he stopped, looking at the floor – and then punched the door hard. _Subtle_ , she thought. _No one outside hearing that would think that’s not strange._

Red eyed, Greg looked up at her. “Fine.”

“Fine? What about this is ‘fine’? You just punched the door!” Maggie could see the knuckles redden before her eye, developing like a Polaroid.

Greg continued, “Fine… if that is what you want -if ‘visibility’ is what you want…”he swallowed hard before shaking on his final announcement. “Go out with me.”

Maggie was pretty sure she’d misheard. There was no way he just said _that_. “Ummm…what?!”

“I was gonna tell you anyways… I dumped Carly.”

“No you didn’t”

“Yes, I did. This morning, just after I…”

“Lobbed a football at my head?”

“Yeah”.

“You dumped her _right_ before prom? The Quarterback split with the Head Cheerleader?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t working so … you know, I don’t need that in my life. So, go out with me. Let’s make this official.”

She was floored. They’d been close for the past five years. More than three times a week, they would share a bed a together. It was nothing untoward, just two friends having a sleepover. Always in secret through because of his ‘reputation’ and this is what made it so bizarre. He’d never shown any interest in Maggie other than as a companion. She bit her lip, adding up the facts of his circumstance in her head and came up with the only logical conclusion.

“She wanted to sleep with you, didn’t she?”

“Yeah…so?” He was embarrassed. He tried to fob it off, “It’s all she’d talk about. Any time we were alone, two minutes and she’d have her hands straight down my pants. She’s a complete slut.”

 _That_ … was the worst thing he could say.

Now the shaking increased, she was incensed. She didn’t know what she expected from him, considering the way that five days a week, six hours a day she was relegated to dirt under his feet. In any case, it was _way_ more than this. _This_ was not right and unfair. “Don’t say that!”

“Don’t say what?”

“Do _not_ call her a ‘slut’!”

“Since when did you join the Carly Craig Fan Club? You two hate each other!”

“Trust me, I don’t like Carly and the shit I’ve had to endure from her is far from acceptable, but it is sooo easy for you meatheads to call us all ‘sluts’, attempting to assassinate _our_ self-esteem to make up for your own uncertainties.”

“What does that even mean? This isn’t Model UN. How about you talk to me like a normal person for once in your life!”

“She is crazy about you! A blind person can see that. She’s so crazy she’ll do anything just to make _you_ feel good. She is offering her body up to you. And just because that frightens the shit out of you – you call _her_ a ‘slut’?” _This was the moment_ , Maggie decided. If it wasn’t now, not only could she lose him completely but he could lose himself. Summoning all strength and courage like she did this morning, she threw out the statement that could make or break their friendship. “I don’t care that you’re gay, Greg but at least be a man about it.”

_First Down._

The colour didn’t drain from his face. He was already pale. Instead it fluctuated like one of those Hypercolour t-shirts. Grey, then red, then white, then grey – over and over and over. It seemed like forever until he responded:

“You had your pills today? I remember your Dad telling me what happens when you don’t take them …”

“Don’t squirm out this.”

“I - am not gay…”

“…Oh please!” Maggie then slammed him with her first hand undeniable evidence, “I saw you making out with Kurt Ramsey in the drama room.” _Touchdown._

Greg switched to autopilot. He face was frozen as his mental faculties worked over time dealing with all she was throwing at him. “You never told me…”

“It’s none of my business. I assumed you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“What you saw. It was…it wasn’t what you think…that was …”

“…don’t you dare say ‘rehearsing’ …”

“…different. That was different. I’m confused … WAS… I _wa_ s confused …you know the shit that’s happened to me at home. How am I supposed to…look, just…I’m not! I’m not!” Maggie felt sad. That part of her heart he lived in hurt for him watching she watched him denying himself. He gave up and just made the first true statement that she actually believed, “I love you.”

It was desperate. It wasn’t a mere declaration. It was a plea.

“I love you too.”

“Then go out with me!”

He was untethering and she felt for him but nothing good was going to come from his solutions.

“Greg. You don’t want to go out with me.”

“Don’t … I can’t…I can’t do this without you.”

“Do what?”

This was breaking point. The emotion over took him, “Any of this – Home; Here. No one else understands.”

“Have you tried them?”

“Yeah. I have actually –I got that burnt by Dwayne when I told him I found him attractive, I had to play it off as a drunken joke. Mags, we got a week. Then summer vacation and then I’m a senior. Twelve months and I’m out of here, but I can’t do that without you.”

“I am nothing to you here.”

“No, you’re not! That’s what you don’t understand. Knowing that you’re close, that I can see you in the hallway, that we go to the drama room if its all too much – that is everything to me. I … know it’s been crap for you but – I never thought I would find somewhere where I was enough. Where I felt safe!”

“Oh really? So climbing through my window most nights and snuggling up, hasn’t made you feel safe? Rocking up to my house at all hours bleeding from god knows where, and we haven’t made you feel safe? The only way you can accomplish your ‘safety’ is by negating my entire existence with your tragic teammates? Screw you, asshole!”

She made a move for the door but he barricaded them, tears and desperation coming from his eyes. “I am sorry. I am. Really. I will lay off. I promise. No more targeting, no more tripping or pushing or footballs or anything.”

“That’s the thing though, I can take that, Greg. I can take the bumps and cuts and bruises, I can take the immature hair pulling bullshit. But you break heart every time I hear you back up your friends when they say something shitty about me. I don’t give a rats ass about them – but _you…_!” She couldn’t finish. Maggie had kept all this in for too long, she hadn’t anticipated the pain of releasing it finally. Greg deflated, stared at his neglected friend.

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“How could you not?”

“I thought you’d be ok. You’re the strongest person I know, Buck – I just thought…”

“Yeah well, even Steve Rogers isn’t that strong.”

Silence. Dust settled.

“Hey, Bucky. I promise to be better. Seriously. I’ll do what I should’ve done months ago… At least come to prom with me? Please? As way to say sorry.”

“I can’t go to prom, I’m a sophomore.”

“A fifteen year old sophomore, you genius.”

“I’m not a genius. Tony Stark …he’s a genius.”

“Dude, you got raided for hacking the NSA...at 13! Chan wanted you to skip two grades. I wish your Dad would’ve let you; you would’ve graduated with me.”

“Yeah, me skipping one grade was enough for him – he thinks I’m growing up too fast”.

“Anyway, I’m the only junior they are inviting – come with me. Let’s make a statement.”

He was sincere. This was the Greg she encountered in the mornings in her room, before he had to prepare his persona for the day. She mulled it over.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“I’ll come with you.”

Greg looked unsettled. She wasn’t the world’s greatest actress. The debacle that was last years school musical ‘Annie Get Your Gun’ was evidence of that. Maggie put his disturbed appearance down to her delivery probably being a little off.

“Yeah? That’s great… but I feel a condition about to be attached?”

He was spot on.

“I will come to prom with you”, she continued, “ …IF… you partner me in the Ruby Gala Dancesport Championships.”

“Ooooohh no. Nooooo no no no no no no.” Greg backed away, hands up, as if just offered him a dose of an infectious disease.

“Oh, come ON!!” she implored. “Kurt’s being a diva and says he won’t dance for less then $2000.”

Greg stopped, his horror melting. “Wait – what? You get paid?”

“Well, yeah. If we win, it’s $600.”

“Is this an every competition thing?”

“Most of them. Why do you think I do it? You think I’m able to buy all my computer gear on my Blockbuster wage? Dad sure can’t afford it.”

A sparkle of entrepreneurship passed over his face. “If I would’ve known that, I never would’ve quit…”

“You mean your folks never told you?”

Greg’s reply was quick. Stone cold. “They’re not my folks, Buck. You know that. And no – if there was money involved, I never saw a penny of it.”

Maggie could see the anger start to rise in him brought the conversation back around. “Sooooo… do we have a deal?”

He was still in heavy contemplation mode. He stroked his smooth, strong chin as his answer escaped him “….Sure.” His mood changed in an instant, upbeat and engaged, as if they had never had an argument. “You’re gonna have to go over the dances with me. I wouldn’t remember a foxtrot if it crept up and scared the shit out of me.”

“No problemo. Well, come on over and we’ll rehearse.”

“Tonight?”

“I can’t tonight. I’m working. Those tapes won’t rewind themselves.”

He acknowledged her and then self-consciously requested, “Can I stay over again?”

“When have you ever had to ask – I’ll page you when I get home.”

“0407. I’ll wait for it…hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. Shouldn’t our page number be 0406?”

“No. Why would it be that?”

“Well, I’m February 4 and you’re June 6. 4th and 6th? 0406.” It was cute. She hadn’t even figured that into her code programming. She liked that he immediately thought of both of them together. She smiled, heading to the door he had just unlocked and confessed the origin.

“0407 – Fourth of July.”

“Independence Day?”

“Steve Rogers Birthday”

Greg laughed. “Of course!” Maggie went for the door handle, but Greg stopped her, putting his hand on hers. “Hey. Come here”, he offered. He enveloped here in a close embrace, her head against his chest, his head resting on hers. “ I’m sorry, Buck. I really am.”

She looked up into his face. “I know”, she replied. He kissed her and she received it. No electricity, just an overflow of affection. As they parted, she made her last stand. ‘And by the way … it’s Maggie from now on.”

“Hmmm…too plain. How about Margaret? It’s classy. Elegant”

“I hate Margaret. My great aunt is Margaret.”

“Maggot? That’s pretty punk…”

“Maggie. Got it?”

They walked out the doors together, the bell sounding for class. Greg reassured her as they made their way back to the lockers. “Oh, I got it. But the rest of these guys …”

“Yeah, yeah. Forever Bucky Barnes. I think I can take it for just a few more years.”

………………………….

She walked out of school that day feeling proud of herself. A rare occurrence – she knew it was puberty’s hormones and chemicals that made her feel down. She guessed that’s what the pills were still for. She’d been on them since she was six, so didn’t know if she was really feeling what she did feel. So, today was different. She never stood up herself herself, and very rarely had she ever stood up to Greg ever, so she felt like she’d made real progress. She had secured her precious Trapper Keeper in her bag for the walk home. She stood on the front steps of the school, the sun refracting off her glasses scratch. Kids streamed passed her to cars, parents and buses. The football team all headed straight for the field. To her left she spied Greg speaking to a very emotional Carly. She was proud he was trying to smooth the situation over and hadn’t just been an asshole about it. Greg looked up and saw her. He nodded and Maggie put her hand up in a small wave goodbye. Her pager went off. 9675. Work. She headed to the payphones out near the quadrangle; unfortunately this is also where the bike racks were situated. Keshawn, the outgoing wide receiver for the HSHS Slipstreams, was sat on his Schwinn chillin’ with some of the cooler members of the graduating class. They spotted her, unleashing their amusement at her banged up appearance.

“Nice shiner, Dweeb!”

_Just ignore them._

She phoned the Blockbuster. A prolonged debate ensued with her unnerving assistant manager Keith Hossencroft over the effectiveness of the Nazi’s splinter group ‘Hydra’ during WWII. She’d worn her S.H.I.E.L.D souvenir t-shirt on her first day of work and she had instantly become his nemesis. His thoughts on Steve Rogers were NOT pleasant. Finally, he put her on to Grace her manager. Grace was highly apologetic but asked if she could do overnight stock take with her. Everyone else had bailed. It was fine. It was good money and she didn’t have to be there until 10pm, which meant she had time to study. On her way home she’d decided she’d skip school tomorrow. She’d be too tired and she was way ahead of everything as it was. It also gave her a full day to work on her Stark presentation. It was times like this she was glad her Daddy was away. Not that she didn’t miss him, she actually hated the frequency that his work trips were taking him away lately, but she also liked the degree of freedom it gave her.

Before entering her house, Maggie stopped next door and just let Mrs. Rodriguez know that she was ok, so she could report back to her Dad. An unofficial babysitter, Mrs. R watched the house to let Joe Barnes know his little girl was safe and not raising hell. There was some animated questioning over the black eye she now sported, but was able to convince her maternal neighbour that her father didn’t need to know. Mrs. Rodriguez had fresh empanadas and loaded the lithe teenager up as she made her way to her own abode. She pushed her way in the front door, falling over the mail on the floor, and made sure she bolted it shut. Dumping her bag and the boiling Filipino curry puffs on the kitchen table, she ran up stairs to the shower to clean up after her eventful day.

Finishing up, she thought she heard a familiar thump. She was used to the sound of Greg coming through her window but not expecting him, she was taken off guard. She toweled off, dressed as quickly as possible, her long dark hair still streaming water down into her t-shirt. She opened the bathroom door and a small sliver of ice ran hit her heart as she realised this might not be Greg at all. She checked in the cabinet under the bathroom sink and found a wrench. She gripped it, making it an extension of her right hand. There was another thud. That was unusual. Panic roared around her nervous system like the Millennium Falcon. She steeled her nerves and muttered her mantra over and over: “ _What would Steve Rogers do? What would Steve Rogers do? What would Steve Rogers do?_ ” Maggie tentatively made her way down the hall her mind racing with every possible situation she may be faced with. She also tried to remember _anything_ she had learned in JROTC that might assist her. She stood just before her bedroom door, which was open. She’d closed it this morning when she left. She breathed in. _You gotta be Brave, Barnes. Think of Steve_. The pep talk worked. She launched herself into the room ready to do battle. It was empty. She checked her wardrobes, behind the door, under the bed. Nothing. She was completely alone. She closed the window, which hadn’t been opened this morning, and then turned towards the wrought iron queen.

On the end of the bed there was a brown paper bag, a red rose and a mega-sized bag of MMs…original, of course. She moved closer and saw that bag had one word scrawled in ballpoint on the front - _Sorry_. Under the word was a right pointing arrow. She turned the flat bag over. Scribbled on the other side were the words. _Latest Issue._ Opening the bag she pulled out a copy of Captain America 440. June 1995. So, it was Greg after all. She grabbed a towel from the back of her door and wrapped up her dripping hair. She plopped herself down on the bed and started to read the small pamphlet. She wasn’t going to school tomorrow so she neglected the homework due. Curled up with her candy and comic, Maggie made the decision to check out Cap’s latest adventure then nap before she had to get to work.

As fate would have it, she would need all the rest she could. That was the night the she would meet the woman who fell to earth.


End file.
